


Reflexivity

by Hien



Series: Atomwave [1]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Introspection, Legends, M/M, atomwave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-12-03 02:25:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11522586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hien/pseuds/Hien
Summary: There's cause and effect, action and reaction, Ray Palmer and growing soft.Mick feels cheated out of a life of crime that should've rightfully been his.Worse, he's eventually okay with that.





	Reflexivity

**Author's Note:**

> Also posted on ff.net, my username there is 'Renn'.

* * *

 

Mick Rory knew he was going to regret this before he even knew what ‘this’ was.

Or was _supposed_ to be.

Or _would_ be.

(Whatever. He won’t ever waste time trying to understand time travel.)

Anyway. Yet again, it was Snart’s fault. Period. The bastard had always been good at pitching a hard sell, and they’d known each other long enough that he knew exactly what to say to get him on board.

They _had_ also known each other long enough that Mick knew there was a reason why he hated said bastard at times, but then again, Leonard usually delivered—more often than not, at least, and that was more than Mick could admit to when striking out on his own.

Still, while double-crossing each other from time to time had never been unheard of – or reason to hold a grudge – Mick had never expected his partner to grow a conscience and goddamn die saving the goddamn universe (or something).

As if it wasn’t enough, he left Mick to grow a conscience of his own, and that was _not_ cool. (Pun intended. Ha! Who ever said he had no sense of humor?)

And as if _that_ wasn’t enough, he left him with a team of mostly boy scouts. (He excluded Sara, because she was badass, enough so that at times he looked at her and figured ‘that might be what having a little sister is like’, because after all, Lisa was badass too and Snart never tired of pointing it out.)

But the others…from the retired troop leader who thinks  he’s still ‘in’ (Stein, who looks at him like he perpetually expects him to set them on fire – which , he’d admit, isn’t so far-fetched) to the tantrum-throwing kid (Jax, although the kid’s not all that bad), through the stick-in-the-mud who thinks he’s in charge (Hunter, and _he’s_ all that bad) and culminating in the man who likely _popularized_ the ‘boy scout’ expressions (introducing one Raymond Palmer), Mick really believed he was being punished more than he deserved and his partner had to be laughing his ass off from the afterlife.

And yet he couldn’t bring himself to walk out. Figures.

Then again, they let him burn things and people on a _very_ regular basis _without_ the risk of being arrested for it, plus they have an AI from the future that can heal mostly anything _and_ produce an endless quantity of alcohol. Mick Rory had always been a man of simple pleasures, why deny himself?

Plus, he didn’t really hate the others. Not really. Except for Hunter. Hunter sucked. Hunter acted holier-than-thou, all, “No, Miss Lance, we can’t alter the time-line to suit our own needs,” when he put their little crew together to do just that when it suited _his_ needs. But whatever. Mick didn’t survive this long by dwelling on the past.

He liked that they were still scared of him but not so much – that whatever they were scared of stemmed from what they’ve witnessed him _do_ and not what they might’ve _heard_ about him. In the confines of his mind, he’d even admit he liked that sometimes they were _not_ scared, although that was _not_ okay. (Again, Sara was fine because sometimes she managed to scare _him_ , and he’d even find it hot, if he hadn’t thought about the ‘little sister’ comment first—he was creepy, but not _that_ creepy.)

But sometimes Jax would pull whatever Mick was fiddling with out of his hands if he thought it could hurt his precious ship, and this without any fear that it might be the last things _his_ hands would do. Plus it was funny watching him get offended on the ship’s behalf. (“It’s okay, Gideon—Rory didn’t mean to call you a trashcan.” “Yes I did.” “No he didn’t.” Sara would usually snort at them to get a room or behave at this point, and the indignation at the implications customarily shut them up right away.)

Stein was a pedantic self-important old goat, but he was good comic relief. In a sense. He often got so lost in his head and his drive to understand every speck of dust that surrounded them that he’d regularly loop him in, asking him about his time as Chronos, curiosity impairing the part of his brain that should’ve controlled fear. And even after Mick would dole out the customary reminder to mind his own business in the form of a threat, the professor would just take a step back, go, “Ah,” and change the subject – usually pretending he was looking for Jax and wandering off. Mick respected people who understood self-preservation and displayed recurring traces of it.

Which lead to the final boy scout, Ray. Haircut. The most idiotic genius he’d ever met. Granted, he hadn’t met many geniuses, but he did have some experience with idiots – there was no doubt that Ray was one, PhDs notwithstanding. Sara was trying to fill her life with a purpose of her own, Jax and Stein had to Firestorm up regularly anyway so might as well use those powers, Hunter was definitely hanging on to the vestiges of a sanity intrinsically linked to his time-ship, but Ray…Ray wanted to be a freaking _hero_ —believed in it so much Mick couldn’t (always) bring himself to make fun of him for it.

Ray would rather be dead and remembered as a hero than alive with no one knowing his name.

Mick called that stupidity.

Ray thought that his worth was linked to what he’d invented, that all he brought to the table was a super-suit.

Mick called that infinite stupidity.

Ray thought that the universe and their team would’ve been better served by him dying instead of Snart.

Mick couldn’t even accurately express how stupid that was.

But at least, the idiot didn’t blame himself for Snart’s death – he at least understood that other people’s decisions were not _his fault_. (Hurray—now call the Pope to make it an official holiday.)

Mick couldn’t really understand why he noticed these things about him. It’s not like it was any skin off his back, after all. Ray cared about what everyone thought of him, Mick just didn’t get why he cared what _he_ thought about him too.

“You don’t owe me anything, Haircut,” he’d told him so many times he’d lost count – and was half-tempted to ask Gideon to record it so it could automatically be played anytime Ray opened his mouth in his presence.

“Well…it’s true but…you did save my life,” Ray would reply every time – or a variation of it, but the beam that accompanied the words always stayed the same. Sure, he’s an idiot, but a loyal one – yet again, one has to question his sanity, when he insists on being loyal to the likes of Mick Rory.

“You read too much into things,” Mick grunted as he reached for another beer, rolling his eyes when Ray just wordlessly hands one over – but with that huge smile. “I just wanted to be the one to flip the Time Pigs the finger,” he drawled as he took a swig and looked at the label like it’s a love-letter.

“Tomato, tom _a_ to,” the Atom declared, honest-to-god almost chuckling at his own words. “You don’t like to be complimented, do you?” he then asked curiously.

Mick sighed and looked at him, channeling the message that ‘you’re an idiot’ as hard as he could. “You think people ever lined up for it much in my life?”

“They should’ve,” Ray replied matter-of-factly with a shrug, completely unaffected by his look—completely oblivious to how badly Mick’s hand wanted to reach for the heat-gun when that happened.

“I’ll never understand how you made it to adulthood,” Mick dismissed him finally, because truly, he didn’t.

He didn’t understand what kind of childhood trauma caused a grown man to retain the ability to see the _good_ wherever he looked and _smile_ like he meant it.

Truly, it wasn’t until sometime later that Mick understood that underneath it all, at times it was really a matter of _having to_. _Having to_ see the good in _others_ , to stop focusing on what he felt _he_ was lacking. _Having to_ smile because if he did it enough, then he could _believe_ it—and let’s face it: his smiles did have the power to cause others not to dwell on him, because they’d figure ‘he’s smiling, so he must be alright’.

Mick never thought anyone was ‘alright’.

If they were ‘alright’, they wouldn’t be living their lives.

But then the ATOM suit exploded, Ray stopped smiling, and Mick thought that wasn't alright, either. For the record, him thinking that was _not_ alright, but drinking more beer didn’t make it go away, and Haircut looked like he might jump out the _Waverider_ so he wouldn’t occupy space anymore. It would take too many words and be too much of a hassle to point out that someone who just invented a cure for _zombies_ isn’t a waste of space, but it’s easier – and quicker – to sigh and hand him the cold gun.

Surprisingly, it was all it took for the smile to be back.

“Just don’t even think about hugging me, or you’ll see firsthand what happens when I fire my heat gun at it,” he grunted back, returning to his beer.

Of course, Ray never took it like the threat it was meant to be. “Why? What happens when the guns collide?” he asked excitedly, the science nerd just happy to have found a new experiment.

“I don’t get paid enough for this,” Mick muttered as he opened another beer – even though his current bottle wasn’t finished yet.

“We get paid?” Ray asked back with a confused frown.

“My point exactly.”

So that was how Mick Rory got himself another partner. Another brain to his brawns—well, in theory only, because Palmer was by no means a criminal mastermind; criminal masterminds were able to figure out who finished the last of the hidden candy stock, or even simply where said hidden stock was stashed.

Plus he had to train him before letting him out in public with the cold gun—reputation and all, right? A guy who was used to computer-assisted firing had to work on his aim.

“No shame in calling it quits,” Mick huffed after Gideon provided them with more beer – and this time he was holding a pack to his chest protectively.

Ray looked at him, truly puzzled, the tilt of his head saying, ‘yes there is’, and he had the gall to add, “I won’t let you down,” and look like he truly means it, the idiot.

“Instead of caring what a criminal—”

“ _Reformed_ ,” Ray interjected, because no one could say bad things about his friends, even themselves.

“—thinks about you, spend more time worrying about not letting _yourself_ down, Haircut,” Mick continued unimpressed—although he _really_ wasn’t paid enough to play shrink on top of it.

Ray frowned attentively, the same expression he takes on when he’s working on solving an unsolvable problem, and when he looked up at him he was surprisingly confident. "What does it say about my life that you're the least complicated person I've got around me right now?"

"It says we're gonna need more beer," Mick replied without missing a beat. More beer was never a bad idea anyway. More beer kept him from reading too deep into things that either weren’t there or shouldn’t have ever been.

Ray freaking Palmer just smiled back, as if that answer was exactly what he’d been expecting and even _hoping_ for.

On their next mission, he was all smiles and excitement and restlessness and it was all Mick could do to keep himself from burning the White House down. He had to keep an eye on him, like one would a child at the beach. He was pretty certain that if there was such a thing as a criminal résumé, Ray would mention on it that he'd stolen a handful of Presidential Jelly Beans.

Heck, Mick wouldn't be surprised if the idiot actually _were_ working on his criminal résumé, because he'd already so often proved that for all his genius he sorely lacked common sense.

And it must’ve been rubbing off on him, because otherwise he really couldn’t explain how he allowed himself to say, “You’re Ray Palmer, you can science your way out of anything.”

And actually _mean_ it.

“I’m sorry,” Ray said dejectedly as they were leaving the building, eyes fixed on the dismantled cold gun.

“Sorry means we’re alive,” Mick dismissed matter-of-factly. “You hug me, I’ll roast you,” he added with a hand on his holster as he saw the other move—and it was satisfying how he froze at that. Walking on ahead, he heard a soft ‘thank you’, but pretended he didn’t.

Just like he pretended not to notice him lock himself up in the lab – to rebuild the cold gun, he knew. Now Mick had never had the pretention of thinking he was smarter than him when it came to building stuff, but he did know his guns well, so after a few beers, a good nap, and some doughnut-breakfast, he made his way there.

He found the scientist fast asleep, head pillowed on his arms, blissfully drooling as he dreamt—probably about prime numbers having a party with differential equations and going to buy puppies and save the world or some shit. The cold gun, reassembled, was next to him. Wordlessly, Mick picked it up and studied it—no ‘improvements’ that he could find, same old. Without even hesitating, he aimed it at what he figured was a scrap of metal further away on the table and pulled the trigger – though if it turned out to be _something_ , not like he’d care either way.

It worked as it should, and Ray snapped awake at the sound, yelping a, “Whu—what? I wasn’t sleeping!” as he looked around bewildered before his eyes stopped on Mick. And then he _smiled_. “I fixed it,” he supplied needlessly.

“I noticed,” Mick grunted back, resisting the urge to roll his eyes—but not the urge to look at him like the idiot he was. “Food. Rest. Now,” he said succinctly as he all but threw the cold gun back at him, half disappointed when he just caught it without fumbling too much.

“Mick,” Ray called him back, undeterred when he stopped but didn’t turn around. “Does this mean we’re still partners?”

And damn it, but did he really have to sound so hopeful and like his dreams rested on that answer?

No one had ever cared that much about what he thought.

Heck, no one probably ever _should_. _Ever_. No one in their right mind, anyhow.

Feeling merciful, he gave an affirmative grunt—and was mildly impressed that the other recognized it as such, and not as an ‘I’m going to maim you alive’ kind of grunt. And damn it, the _smile_ was back. “You hug me, I’ll break your arms,” he said instead of addressing the real issue, because some things needed to be spelled out, if the way Ray’s arms quickly moved behind his back was any indication.

Still, getting their hands on that dwarf-star alloy was Christmas come early for everyone – a collective sigh of relief was heaved at not having to worry about their resident overgrown puppy so much anymore.

“I think I can use the dwarf-star to make the heat gun more powerful for short blasts,” Ray declared without preamble as he walked into his quarters barely half an hour after they left the West.

“Don’t you have a suit to build?” Mick grunted back, more than mildly annoyed that the boy scout clearly wasn’t afraid enough since he seemed to think it was okay to just barge in uninvited. He was also the tiniest bit proud of him for _not_ being afraid, but he’d deny it until the day he died.

Ray’s eyes widened for a second before he did that thing where he nodded, toyed with his hands and tried to appear casual.

Spoiler alert: Ray sucked at the whole ‘trying to appear casual’ stint.

“I’m going to regret asking, aren’t I?”

“It’s just a way of thanking you—that I figure you won’t totally hate,” the scientist admitted with a helpless shrug. “It’s…the only thing I could think of that you wouldn’t totally hate, actually. Well I mean I did think about replicating some more booze, or getting those doughnuts you seem to love, but it would be _Gideon_ doing the actual work, not me, so how is that a fitting ‘thank you’? And then I figured—”

Mick just had to stop the rambling. Rambling causes headaches. “Okay.”

“O…kay?” Ray repeated with a slow blink.

“I don’t totally hate the idea,” was the succinct reply as he stood and put on his best menacing airs. “But I’ll be looking over your shoulder the whole time, and if you so much as nick a wire—”

“You’ll do something very painful and possibly permanent to me?” Ray supplied helpfully, bright smile right back as though it was something _nice_ to be told.

“You have a serious problem, Haircut,” Mick felt obliged to inform him as he pushed past him to go towards Ray’s cabin – but not without a quick stop by the kitchen to get some snacks.

It was some mighty good thinking on his part, because apparently Ray was smart enough to work on his gun _and_ talk his ear off at the same time, although Mick did get the feeling that he wasn’t working as quickly as he could. Never matter, the upgrade was soon completed, and once they tested it, he had to admit he really didn’t hate the idea—at all.

Ray was all but balancing on the back of his heels as he waited for his verdict, and Mick yet again wondered how he was still alive. “I’ve had worse,” he answered the unspoked question gruffly.

Ray beamed, looking visibly relieved, and then his gaze shifted and he did that ‘thing’ with his mouth again, and Mick knew he would yet again regret asking. “What now?”

“Are we…still partners?” Ray asked as his eyes flitted back to him before settling on the heat gun. “I mean…if all goes well, I’ll soon be done rebuilding my suit, and I realize that the whole ‘partners’ deal was mostly linked to the cold gun, because it’s not like you’d let just anyone use it, but I think we work well together, and—”

God, the _rambling_ …

Mick had to ask, “Why is it so important to you to get someone else’s validation? Is that the only way you can feel good about yourself?”

A meathead he may be, but he did have some observational skills – something useful in his former line of work, if you didn’t want to die young.

Ray’s mouth snapped shut and he frowned as he looked at him, visibly caught off guard. But at least he’d stopped toying with his hands and his feet stood firmly planted on the ground. “Not ‘someone else’s’,” he corrected. “Yours.”

“Sounds even worse,” Mick said with no bite, absolutely certain of that.

“You’re always honest – bluntly, _painfully_ so, but you’re someone I know I can take at face value,” Ray argued, crossing his arms over his chest but holding his look.

That was probably the moment Mick Rory realized he hated Ray Palmer, because the man made him be _nice_ to him.

“Look, a gun is just that—a gun. A tool. Partnerships aren’t really based on tools, are they?”

Ray’s eyes lit up—heck, his entire face lit up with that stupid grin and his fingers twitched on his arms. “I hug you, you’ll hurt me?” he asked, fully knowing the answer.

“Damn right,” Mick replied anyway as he stormed off towards the kitchen – this really called for more beer.

So maybe he took to having his snacks and beers in the lab, perched atop some crates from which he could watch the idiot bring his suit back to life, but in his defense, sometimes there were explosions or even _fires_ , and it was too much fun to watch the other fumble his way through curse words. Plus there was that priceless moment when one glove’s AI got frisky and the hand started going after Ray – the scientist kept trying to fix it even as gloved fingers continued to try and kill him, so Mick took it as his cue and grabbed a screwdriver to literally nail the glove to the table. Ray’s wide-eyed semi-reproachful look had been completely worth it – but not as much as his yelp when he realized the fingers were still out to get him.

And okay, ‘the suit doesn’t make the man’, and ‘the man inside is what matters’ and all that jazz, but no one can deny that seeing Ray back in the ATOM suit is a sight for sore eyes. And because their team can’t seem to do anything half-assed, they celebrate by fighting _aliens_ , of all things – all the while taking part in a super team-up that has the nerds on each sides practically dying of fangasm.

Ray being Ray, he even managed to get freaking captured by said aliens. Mick thinks maybe he should give more credit to the nerd army, because they managed to give Nate good coordinates to get their teammates back. But then it’s Mick's turn to get captured, by the US military in the fifties—hey, they can’t _all_ play with their new alien friends, can they?

If asked, he’d only grunt non-threateningly, but in the confines of his own mind, he had to admit that the team-up wasn’t such a horrible experience. The most interesting bit though was the part where Ray was genuinely angry at the Flash for his ‘selfish meddling with time’, casually going and creating the very thing the Legends had been working day and night to put an end to—Mick would almost be proud, really. But Ray…Ray acted like someone told him the sun had stopped shining—that when a hero acted _un_ heroically, the end of the World might just be around the corner. Like the good guys aren’t allowed to screw up, because if they do, then what’s there left to fight for?

That look on his face was damn annoying, and that’s the only reason Mick stopped by the lab to tell him, “We screw up on a regular basis, Haircut. Part of the deal. Red’s no different.”

Ray didn’t jump in surprise – disappointing, really – but neither did he turn to him, focusing on his post-battle suit check-up. “Is it stupid of me, to expect more from Barry? Or Oliver?” he finally asked.

“Yep,” Mick replied, figuring by then Ray very well knew that if he was looking to be coddled, he shouldn’t be talking to him of all people. Ray’s shoulders still sagged slightly, so Mick briefly rolled his eyes and sighed. “But don’t stop. It’s part of who you are.”

Ray fortunately didn’t say anything to that, but he did turn around, and when he did his smile spoke volumes anyway. “I was on an alien spaceship,” he said instead, like it was news.

“You’ve been on one for the better part of a year,” was the needless reminder.

“Okay, yes, but with _alien-looking_ aliens!” the idiot insisted, and maybe it ought to be to his credit, that he managed to keep some excitement about this even though he’d been held captive and…

…and _what_ , exactly?

“So what did the freaks do to you guys, exactly?” Mick asked, a rare instance of letting his curiosity get the better of him. “Probing and shit?” It was hard to keep the slightest _tiniest_ bit of worry out at that, because if unspeakable things had been done to him, Mick might be tempted to send a message back in time to avoid the capture altogether, consequences be damned.

“Mind probing, yeah—we’re still not entirely clear what they were after for sure, maybe a reason why we were fighting them side by side with metahumans,” Ray thought out loud. “They trapped us in a weird shared illusion but…it just felt wrong. We all knew it right away, which begs the question—could their techniques really be that easily seen though, based on the rest of their technology that we’ve observed?”

“You lost me.”

“I’m just saying that they’re obviously quite technologically advanced, much more than us yet—”

“That was a nice way of saying I don’t care, Haircut,” Mick interrupted him gruffly, almost grinning as the other’s mouth snapped close.

Ray just smiled back at him, apparently saying that anything was okay as long as he was _nice_ about it.

Idiot.

“You missed a spot of alien guts on the suit,” the (reformed) criminal informed him before leaving summarily, letting out that smirk as he heard him go, “What—no I didn’t, where? Mick! _Where_?”

And then of course shit hit the fan again, because that’s just their lot in life.

Mick just wondered whether he should blame his newfound hallucinations of Snart on the food, the lab, the idiot, the weather, the time-stream, or himself. He didn’t want to go crazy. He did want his friend back, but not like that. He didn’t talk about it though—it’s not real until you talk about it.

That was actually a safe rule for mostly anything, he figured long ago—it won’t exist if you don’t mention it. He’s even pretty sure there’s a scientist that said something like that at some point—that when you’re looking at something, whatever it is that’s going on is actually happening _because_ you’re looking at it. Or maybe it was a philosopher.

…it might’ve been a fortune cookie, too.

So he won’t talk about hallucinating his best friend. Just like he won’t talk about enjoying this impromptu Christmas celebration the team puts together on the _Waverider_. Just like he won’t talk about how awesome Ray’s present is—or how secretly impressed he is that Haircut obviously wasn’t too squeamish to catch the rat, despite its potential diseases (although he wouldn’t be surprised if the poor guy had been injected with a cure-it-all Palmer-engineered concoction).

And definitely like he won’t _ever_ talk about Ray’s face lighting up when it’s obvious the rat was a hit (he thinks he’s gonna name him ‘Axel’, sounds badass for a rat).

He _will_ talk about having found Hunter again only to have him be a parody of a parody, and then get kidnapped. (He will _not_ use the name ‘Legion of Doom’ though, because _seriously_?) Not to forget that they find him again, all brainwashed to be evil, and at least it gets interesting, but then again Mick’s busy trying to teach the finer points of being an American to Georgie Washington—who has time for brainwashed ex time-masters when there’re battles to be fought and foundations for a more lenient justice system to be laid?

All of that was nothing compared to Camelot though. Because of course Ray went all fanboy at the mere mention of it. And of course, as usual, that meant he stupidly risked his life like an idiot. And _of course_ , Mick couldn’t let him die like that, because…well…because of that _thing_ he won’t ever talk about. (Ever.)

Even when Ray stopped by him, all smiles and sunshine and stars in his freaking eyes and opened his mouth—and it was all Mick could do to raise a finger threateningly and say, “You hug me, I’ll make you wish you’d died during that battle.”

How infuriating is it that Ray’s smile merely widened?

“Thank you,” he said anyway, needlessly proving yet again that he sorely lacked self-preservation instincts.

And Mick was pissed that someone visibly ratted him out—out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Jax hurrying past them and his eyes narrowed knowingly: only he would be foolish enough to tell on him. There was payback to be had there.

But wouldn’t you know it? He was served with a distraction when he happily supervised the un-brain-washing of one Rip Hunter. Wasn’t that just swell?

Having him back was…not that groundbreaking, truthfully. He didn’t really hate the guy anymore, he was more…indifferent to him. The team worked well together now, and they did just fine without him—actually, one of those other things he’ll never talk about is Sara being a better captain than anyone else could ever be.

Their resident goofball looked entirely too pleased at having walked on the moon (seriously, it’s just a big rock, what’s the big deal?) but it’s surprisingly difficult to avoid someone when you’re all living on the same time-ship, so when he walked into the kitchen to see Ray regaling Amaya with another retelling of his lunar adventures, he sighed but didn’t leave—he was hungry, and thirsty.

Amaya did get up to take her leave though, sending him a look that was oddly reminiscent of a ‘tag, you’re it’ before heading to her quarters—or a ‘your turn to humor the puppy’, that sounded more fitting to the situation.

Ray didn’t think anything of it, and it was unclear whether he caught a hint or something, but he didn’t restart his story. “How’s Axel doing?” he asked instead.

Mick wanted to ignore him, truly he did, but Haircut made that difficult when he insisted on looking at him like he invented gluten free food - and considering he'd never even heard of the stuff before meeting the idiot, that was saying a lot.

 “I think out of all of us he’s the one who’s got it best,” was his gruff reply. Grabbing a couple of beers, he wordlessly placed one in front of Ray, hoping he’d get the message— _no talking_.

Miraculously, he did.

And then he had to make it worse by looking at him like he invented gluten free food _specifically_ for him.

He definitely wasn’t paid nearly enough for all of this. “Just keep’em coming, Gideon.”

“Yes, Mr. Rory.”

Small favors.

The peace and quiet doesn’t last though, because when does it ever? The Legion of Stupidity and Evil (sounds only marginally less stupid than ‘Doom’, he’ll admit to that) finally made their last move – and oh, wouldn’t you know it? That last move included Evil Leonard Snart.

Because of course.

He wasn't not his friend. Not yet. Not to the person he’d become since leaving 2016 with the bunch of do-gooders he’d come to think of as a team. _This_ Snart was never part of it. Mick won’t pretend that he never hesitated, that he was never tempted to just go along and make sure his best friend—his _only_ friend, for the longest time—would be there with them in the end, but you can’t have it all.

Plus then some future versions of themselves showed up to mess shit up even more, so he knew for a fact they were in deep. He’d seen other versions of Mick Rory before, but there still remained something weird about that that he never quite got used to—he supposed nobody ever did, maybe that was why it wasn’t supposed to happen in the first place.

His future self hadn’t been very loquacious, but what he did say packed quite the punch.

“Don’t ever betray him.”

He didn’t need to ask who the ‘him’ was. And he got the feeling that said betrayal had also involved the rest of the team, but his own message to himself had been not to betray _him_ , so Mick figured that in the end, _his_ reaction had been the only one worth truly caring about. Enough to risk some serious shit by giving his past self that very simple instruction.

It made him wonder just what he’d done, really—well, he could guess it had something to do with Snart…maybe siding with him in the end? But he wouldn’t do that—to himself at least, he can admit that he does…not entirely mind his team, and if they died he’d be pretty pissed. So if he’d risked that then…he figured that had been a sink or swim move, maybe a last-ditch effort to not see them all die for nothing.

It didn’t matter anyway. It was in the past—or wait…the future? The past-future? Shit, he could feel a headache coming on…

But point made. Don’t ever betray _Ray_.

Any remaining infinitesimal part of him that still wondered if he could truly ignore Snart went out the space-window when the bastard drove an icicle through the other Mick’s heart—case in point: Leonard hadn’t been able to kill him, even when he’d wanted to. Leonard had frozen and shattered one of his hands off to escape in time to stop the team from killing Mick when he’d been Chronos.

That Snart was not Leonard.

And that impostor thought he’d let him get away with pointing his cold gun at Ray? Think again.

Ray, who looked at Mick with obvious relief and wide eyes easily seen even through his visor. Ray, who thought he’d seen him die and had sounded devastated by it—and well, he _did_ see him die, just…the future version, so he figured that was okay.

Still… “You hug me, I’ll kill you,” he told him indisputably as he held a hand up to stop him.

Ray stopped in the motion, but wasn’t deterred, only muttered a, “Okay…Later!” and Mick was glad he didn’t see nor hear the amused snort he hadn’t been able to completely censor at that.

Future Nate died. Future Hunter, too. Future Jax was shot down first. Only Future Sara remained.

Their Sara saved the day though—and that right there is why he knew he respected her: she was so badass.

Snart gives him shit when he drops him back in the past, before Thawne recruited him. And yeah, it did sting a bit not leaving him any clues about any of it, but then again, when it came down to it he was setting him on a path where they _wouldn’t_ try to kill each other, so he figured it was for the best.

They’ll both be better men for it—he’s come to actually believe that.

And speaking of which, don’t the good guys get the girl at the end?

Ray had just taken off his suit when Mick walked into the lab, and turned back to him with that wide smile and soft look in his eyes, the one that promised so many troubles and headaches. The idiot then let out a shuddering breath and just kept smiling and Mick couldn’t be as annoyed as he wanted to be because no one had ever reacted like he did to his hypothetical death.

In retrospect, he might see this as the moment he accepted he truly was fucked. Ray Palmer had won.

He was in front of him with a few swift strides, and felt strangely pleased when Ray didn’t panic and just went along with him when he moved a hand to the back of his neck to pull him into a harsh kiss. It was rough and needy and everything Ray wasn’t, but he pushed back all the same, and then soon enough it was slow and deep and Mick thought he was even more fucked than he ever anticipated.

“So…I hug you, you don’t kill me anymore?” Ray quipped against his mouth and Mick just shut him up with another kiss—because seriously, the _nerve_ of that guy.

Of course, that only shut him up momentarily. “We saved the world, none of us died—well, not _us_ us, although I do suppose the other ‘us’ do count, what I felt when I saw you— _other_ you—die was real for sure, but _we’re_ all still in one piece, and now _this_ …” Ray trailed off, shaking his head with something akin to…wonder.

Mick could only raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to finish that thought.

Ray’s hand on his back tightened around a fistful of his shirt, and he leaned more into the hand that was still on his neck. “That’s a pretty good way to end the day!”

What else could Mick do but snort. “Sure—pity no one’ll ever know about the heroics, right?” he asked shrewdly, somewhat still wary of the other’s hero complex—protecting someone else was hard enough without having to worry about protecting them from _themselves_.

Ray had the decency to acknowledge that weakness of his with a nod, but then he held his look with the utmost seriousness. “I’ve given it a lot of thought lately, and I don’t care if no one ever hears about the things we’ve done, or even remembers my name—I know what’s important. I have a team now, somewhere I belong – and I see it now: that’s all that really matters. As long as I’m useful, and wanted, I’m happy.” At this he grinned bashfully before adding, “Plus—”

“Don’t say it,” Mick groused warningly.

“I’ve got _you_ , so really, what else is important?” Ray finished anyway, with the added audacity of looking very pleased with himself.

“You’re an idiot, Ray,” was all he could say in return.

When Ray beamed at him as though he’d just said ‘I love you, please marry me’ instead of insulting him, Mick seriously hesitated between kissing him or strangling him—and figured that’s what his life will be like from now on.

Spoiler alert: he ended up kissing him.

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> I only recently discovered the show, and it has spurred me out of a long hiatus--I love these two so much.....  
> I've read some pretty good stories on them, but I hope I managed to do them justice my way. :)  
> There's also a companion fic to this from Ray's POV.


End file.
